I wanted to be the wind.
I wanted to be the wind flowing through each strand of his hair. I wanted to be the moon, bathing him in my light. I wanted to be his wisdom. I wanted to be the blush in his cheeks. The chill that traveled down his spine and the warmth of his soul. I wanted to be the itch underneath his skin when his thoughts were troubled. I wanted to be his consolation; and his isolation. I wanted to be the blur in his drunken vision. I wanted to be his dreams. I wanted to be his fixation in the night sky and the sweet seduction of his daylight. I wanted to be the plant that he watered with his kindness. I wanted to be the glass that tasted his lips, the breath that escaped his lungs and the oxygen that flowed through his blood. The stardust sticking to the walls of his veins. I wanted to be his lingering melancholy. I wanted to be the tears that once had the chance to live inside his eyelids. I wanted to be every door handle that his fingertips caressed. I wanted to be the saliva resting on his tongue. I wanted to be each and every heartbeat that kept him alive for a moment longer.
Can you understand?
Because I can’t.
I wanted to be the life that he questioned, the life that left him speechless. I wanted to be the information that he craved.
I wanted to be everything.
I wanted to be her.
I wanted to be me.